Barbs of Ice
by Dex
Summary: Gambit is sent to recruit a new member of the team. But, who's team?


"Barbs of Ice."   
  


All recognizable characters and settings belong to Marvel; I am using them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The plot and original characters, however belong to me. Any and all feedback is appreciated at dex@globalserve.net. Redistribution of this tale for profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting me first to obtain my permission.   
  


The man at the table lit another cigarette, inhaling the aromatic smoke deeply. The ashtray in front of him bore the remains of at least a pack of finished cigarettes, crushed into an untidy heap. The lurid red lights caused strange pools of ruby light to fill the odd corners and angles of the cheap bar. A strobe weakly flashed above the stage, it's staccato blinking attempting to punctuate the dancing form. The rather disinterested dancer ground half heartedly to the heavy beat coming from the speakers. The bar held only a few customers, mainly due to the ferocious ice storm which raged outside. 

Calgary was bad in winter by any standards, but a recent cold snap had made it nearly unbearable to even the locals. Animals were found frozen standing up in outlying fields, and every surface was coated with thick sheaves of ice. Most people had kept indoors, waiting for the freezing winds to die down so they could return to business. Only the bars and hotels had remained open, serving out of town customers trapped in the city after the airport had been shut down. The strip bar was not experiencing any major windfalls this evening. A bored waitress approached the table. 

" Can I get you something?" 

" Non." 

" Look, I really don't care if you sit and rot here, okey? But, if you aren't drinking, you're leaving. Policy." Remy looked up at the girl, his foul mood steadily getting worse. 

" Whatever is on tap den." 

" Sure. Don't do me no favors." The girl wandered away, leaving Remy to his thoughts. Being in Calgary was the first problem. He had grown up in the steamy delta region of the Mississippi, hot and humid weather all year around. The air was thick as soup, carrying all the tastes of the city itself. Calgary was the exact opposite. A freezing, dry hell, the air like a knife and devil winds which drove all warmth from your body. Remy lit another cigarette. 

Waiting for a professional killer in a second rate strip bar wasn't sitting easy on his nerves either. He had expected some sort of neutral ground like this, but the weather and the fact that his contact was nearly two hours late set all his senses on edge. 

A pint of beer was set down in front of him, the glass frosting from the chill of the liquid. Remy passed one of the multi-coloured bills to the waitress, waving away the change. He took a sip of the beer, noting immediately the difference between the beer he had grown up on. 

" Have t' watch what I drink today. Little more kick den my usual..." He muttered to himself, pushing the glass away. Remy snuffed out the half smoked cigarette, fingers beating a nervous tattoo on the table. Normally, Remy was as cool an operative as one could find, but he felt out of place, uncomfortable and very uneasy. The combined pressure was causing his calm shell to crack. 

With a muffled curse, the door banged open. Dancers and customers alike shuttered at the blast of icy wind which drove through the open door. A few more curses followed as the door was wrestled shut again, the warmth and noisy din returning to the bar. The bulky figure removed his outerwear, to reveal that the bulk was not made up by padding. He stalked across the bar, moving with remarkable agility for a man of his size. Remy watched him as he reached the bar, ordering from the waitress who had been serving him earlier. They exchanged a few words, and the girl pointed over to the table that Remy was at. Remy leaned back, both relieved that the man had finally showed and somewhat dreading actually having to talk to him. The man took the pitcher and glass from the waitress and walks over to Remy, plunking his drinks on the table. 

" Aieh. You LeBeau?" The voice was surprisingly soft and gentle. Remy noted a slight slurring on the hard consonants, an unfamiliar accent to his voice. 

" Dat's right, ami." 

" They didn't tell me they were sending a Quebecker." 

" No quite." 

" Doesn't really matter much. I don't like most frogs in general." He took a chair across from Remy. 

" I'm sure de feeling is mutual, non?" Remy lit another cigarette. " Mind if I smoke?" 

" Shoot up for all I care." 

" T'anks, I keep dat in mind." 

" So, ten thousand for showing up, right? Well, I'm here." Remy sighed and tossed a thick envelope on the table. The man picked it up and rifled through the contents for a moment. Apparently satisfied, he stowed the envelope in his pocket, taking a long pull from his glass. Remy sat staring at him through the smoke. The man ignored him, watching the girl on stage intently, or at least that was what he seemed to be doing. Remy noted the slight movement around his eyes as they took in the entire bar in small scans. The silence grew uncomfortable, each man waiting for the other to give. 

" So, I hear you're looking for work." Remy said finally. The man turned back to him, his grey eyes locking with Remy's red on black ones. 

" Perhaps." 

" Could you be a little more specific dere." 

" If it is worth my while, I might be convinced to work for your employer." 

" Don you want to know de job firs'?" 

" Should I?" The man smiled. " I would guess that if he's looking to hire me, then it is not only illegal but violent as well." 

" Got dat right, Sagatuk." 

" Ah, you got a name." 

" De whole blasted file. Hallie Sagatuk, discharged from de Canadian Armed Forces for attacking a senior officer. Wanted in connection wit de slaying of three Forestry officers. Suspected poacher, smuggler and weapon dealer. Dat sound complete?" Remy said. 

" You forgot the connection with various underworld and mercenary officers, but it seems relatively complete." Sagatuk smiled again, draining his glass in one pull. 

" Why don' you tell me 'bout it?" 

" Why do you need to know?" 

" Because, if I don pass you, de boss don take you." 

" Big threat to a man who isn't really interested in the job." Another pitcher arrived at the table, Hallie pouring for both of them. 

" Dey pay three times dat a month." Remy said, motioning to the pocket in which Hallie had stashed the envelope. The man's eyebrows shot up. Money was the best attention getter. 

" Okey, what do you need to know?" 

" Not much, jus a few answers to de right questions." Remy lit another cigarette. " For example, why did you punch out dat Sargent? De record says you were a good little soldier." 

" Ol' Carson? Not much of a trick. The bastard hated Inuit. I was Inuit. One day he pushed me too far." Sagatuk refilled his glass again, steadily draining the pitcher. 

" How did he do dat?" 

" Started yelling at me, asking if I was stupid and gay, and if my mind was on some little boy I'd left behind. So I broke his jaw and his pelvis. Three more seconds and I would have cut out his balls and stuffed them in his mouth." The Inuit smiled again, but it was mirthless and cold. 

" Den why dis bother you so much, neh?" 

" Because my older brother was gay, and bastards like Carson killed him." Hallie's eyes tightened, anger flashing in their deep grey depths. The alcohol had begun to set in on the native, and he started talking faster as he drank more. 

" Joanassie was five years older then me. He used to sit and tell me stories while he drew and sketched the world around us. He could capture the essence of a landscape in just a few quick lines. You ever seen drawing like that? Where the page seems alive?" Remy nodded. " Well, that was what Joanassie could do. His drawings breathed, they were so life-like." 

" Sounds like he was pretty good." 

" Fantastic. But, he was not a healthy child. He caught tuberculous when it swept through our settlement. Ever seen someone die of tuberculous?" The Inuit drained yet another glass, pausing only to shoot out sentences rapid fire. 

" Never 'ad dat pleasure." 

" Nasty. I watched my aunt cough up black, bloody chunks of her own lungs. Eats you apart from the inside. Takes your lungs, your flesh and your will to live. Joanassie was fifteen when he caught it the first time. I was untouched, one of the rare immunes. The native officer sent him and six other children down to Hamilton, to be treated for it." Hallie ran his fingers through his shocking red hair, his eyes slightly unfocused from the beer. 

" An' den?" 

" He got better and they sent him back. I nearly didn't recognize him. He had changed from my big brother to this almost sickly looking man at my house. The sickness had drained away all of his muscle, he was just bone and tendon. Away, our father kept getting mad at him, since he couldn't keep up with the hunting parties. As Chief, it was my father's duty to make his son as strong as he was, and Joanassie had lost to much to the sickness. The scar tissue broke in his lungs and he was sent back to Hamilton." Sagatuk waved the waitress over and ordered a bottle of rye, setting a glass before Remy. He was silent as he poured two glasses and lifted it in front of him. 

" Someone offered Joanassie a job as an artist in an advertising company. I remember how excited he had been about it when he wrote. He had also found... somebody there. He was eighteen, and ready to make his mark in life. But, the Royal Commission of Native Affairs and my father refused to allow him to stay. He was a Canadian, but because of political concerns due to my fathers position, they sent Joanassie back." Hallie stared into the amber depths of the glass for a minute, his eyes hard and cold. 

" He drowned during a hunting party not long after. His lungs just couldn't take the cold and the strain. My father and the Anglos killed him. They killed my brother." Hallie tossed back the rye, Remy echoing the motion. He grimaced slightly as the liquid burned it's way down. 

" An' dis is why you beat on dis Carson?" 

" In part. I also was looking for an excuse to jump the bastard." 

" What about de poaching?" 

" There are always Americans with money who want to hunt something protected or out of season. I used to take them out for a hefty fee. After Joanassie and the army, all I wanted was out. The money was my means." Hallie got up and lurched to the washroom, the agility had been dulled by the alcohol. Remy poured himself another glass of the rye, his mind processing the story. So far, it fit with the rumours he had picked up on the man. Soon, he'd see how far the man could be controlled. Again, he cursed the events which had forced him to work for Sinister, and putting him into this situation. Sagatuk returned just as he finished the glass. 

" Any ways, one day a group of officers came across me and a pair which I had taken bear hunting. The men were not the type who could afford any tangles with the police. The one shot the first man in the throat just as they hailed us. In the next few minutes, another of the men was dead, and the last officer was going for his snowmobile. I remember grabbing my knife out and running after him. He had just swung past me and was accelerating away when I threw the knife in a last ditch effort to stop him. It started glowing and took off like a rocket, punching a hole through the man like a pistol. When we made it back to the camp, the men had noticed that my hair had changed to the bright red." Hallie smirked. 

" First time you knew about your powers den?" 

" Yeah, the men turned out to be some big time mercenary bosses on vacation. They offered me a job and I never looked back." 

" How long you work for dem?" 

" Eight, nine years. All over the world too. Tracker and heavy artillery. Did some wetwork in the Middle East, a little urban terrorism in Europe and more than a few drug raids in Central America." Sagatuk up ended the rye bottle into his glass, draining it. Remy's eyes watered as Hallie threw back the entire giant slug. 

" Den why ain't you still wit' dem?" 

" Most of the team got wiped out in Madipoor, screwing around with the wrong people. I took what I could get from the group and left. Figured I'd lay low for a bit and decide what to do." 

" An' what is it you interested in doing?" 

" Me? I want a shot at the Anglos. Not in any specific way, just to balance the scales a little. Fuck the world which has spent its time fucking me." Remy leaned back. It was the answer he'd wanted. 

" Hallie, I think we may have a deal." Remy dropped a second envelope in front of the man, thicker than the first. " In dere is a signin' bonus and a phone number. You call dat and listen carefully to what dey tell you. Den, do what dey say. Got it?" The Inuit nodded, unsteadily pocketing the envelope. 

" Yeah, I got it. Hey, is the boss an Anglo?" 

" Well, he is very... white." Remy said. 

" Oh well. Look, I'm going to get out of here." Remy nodded and Sagatuk struggled into his jacket and walked out into the frozen hell. Remy shivered when he left, though not from the cold or from the wind. He felt soiled, every nerve telling him to run and not look back. But that wasn't an option with Sinister. The only way you could escape him would be to run to the edge of the world and toss yourself off. And even then, it wasn't guaranteed. Remy signed and lit his last cigarette, his hands shaking visibly. He could feel that he was starting something, something fundamentally wrong and there was nothing he could do about it. Outside, the storm continued unabated, lashing out at the world in it's fury.   
  


FIN   
  


Afterword: First, this is obviously the origin of Harpoon, of the Marauders. I don't like him, or Gambit much for that matter, but this story popped unbidden into my mind and I couldn't just let it slide. 

Second, Joanassie Sagatuk was a real person. In the mid fifties, an outbreak of tuberculous had savaged the Inuit populations, and Hamilton had one of the largest treatment centers for young Inuits. My father through Scouts, had made friends with Joanassie and had spent a summer with him in Hamilton. Joanassie was offered a position due to his art ability, but since his father was chief, he was sent back to the north. And yes, less then three years later, he drowned in a hunting party due to his weakened lungs. I would suggest any one who is interested to check out the historical records about the TB plague and the story of the Inuit and the government at the time. Very tragic and poignant. 

Third, the word is Inuit, not Eskimo. Eskimo means 'eaters of raw meat' and is the equivalent to using 'nigger'. 


End file.
